


Bel Canto

by coffeeandcas



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Plug, Canon Universe, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Hannibal is Hannibal, Kinktober, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Operas, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Rimming, Sex Toys, Subdrop, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 23:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15982466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcas/pseuds/coffeeandcas
Summary: Hannibal takes Will to the opera and decides to make the evening a little more interesting for both of them - by testing every limit Will has.





	Bel Canto

Will Graham despises the opera. The beauty of the music is entirely lost on him and he finds no shame in admitting it. His tastes are simpler, quieter, less sociable, and usually in a language he understands. He can cope with the experience when the house lights go down and all he has to do is watch and listen - or, in his case, allow himself to drift and think about his lecture notes or his most recent unsolved case for Jack. It's the parts before, during the interval, and after that he abhors the most: rubbing shoulders with the rich and influential amongst Baltimore’s high society isn't his idea of fun. He manages to get through it with rigid smiles and hides behind his glasses, holding his champagne up to cover his mouth and avoids meeting the eyes of anyone. He walks the line between intriguingly aloof and just plain rude, but he knows he would be made swiftly aware if he were to cross over from one side to the other.

He swears, time and time again, that Hannibal only drags him to these soirées to torture him. He likes seeing Will squirm under the watchful eyes of elderly women draped in diamonds and young men who wet their lips when he walks past then turn back to their wives and sip their drinks. Will isn't sure if they want him or want to be him - brought to these events on the arm of Baltimore’s most revered psychiatrist and arguably the best host in the city - but either way he resents the attention and the way Hannibal flaunts him. And tonight is no different to any other, apart from one fine detail: Hannibal is blatant about his torture of Will, has been from the moment they left the house. Or, more specifically, ten minutes prior.

Hannibal had arrived in their bedroom fully dressed in one of his six tuxedos, looking utterly edible, and Will had faltered and stalled his jerky attempts at tying his bow tie. He suddenly felt self-conscious in his shirt, socks, and the tight boxer-briefs Hannibal had bought him for his last birthday. He felt scruffy in comparison, even half-dressed.

“Wow. You look, um. Good. Great.”

“Eloquent as always.” Hannibal approaches him, frees one of his hands from his bow tie and kisses the knuckles. “Allow me.”

He loops the tie swiftly, so close to Will that they're sharing a breath. Will watches Hannibal’s eyes as he finishes and straightens the tie, smoothed his hands over the shoulders of Will’s shirt, then steps back.

“Lovely as always. I have something for you for tonight, Will. A treat. A gift I think we will both enjoy.”

“Alright,” Will tries to keep the trepidation from his voice. The last time Hannibal had bought him a gift it had been black, lacy, and to be worn beneath the pants of his suit. He had blushed the entire night long at the opera, hyper aware of the sensation of delicate fabric against his skin and the way his cock and balls were cradled so close to his body. He'd had one of the best orgasms of his life that night when Hannibal had taken him home, the panties ripped off him with teeth and two fingers against his prostate making him sob with desperation. If Hannibal’s treat is anything similar then it likely will bring an incredible reward - after a period of hardship. He secretly hopes it's another pair of panties; he would love to wear them out in public again, knowing what's beneath his clothing and that the only other person in the room who knows is the man they all adore so much.

“Here,” Hannibal presents him with a small, rectangular cream box wrapped neatly and tied with black ribbon. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“It is?” Will raises his eyes, panic stirring within him. “No, Hannibal, it's only January.”

“Dear Will, please. I just wished to find an excuse to spoil you.” Hannibal draws him close by an elbow and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Happy very early Valentine’s Day.”

“I didn't know we were planning to celebrate,” Will murmurs, almost to himself. “I should get dressed before I open this.”

“You absolutely should not.” A kiss is pressed to the bolt of his jaw then lower, to the pulse point of his throat. “It would be a wasted task, since you'd only have to remove your clothing again to use my gift. That is, assuming you wish to use it this evening.”

Will swallows hard. So whatever the item is - and he's assuming it isn't clothing based on the size and shape of the box - it's something erotic, something Hannibal envisages Will unpacking and using on himself at the opera somehow. He tugs on the black bow and it slides away, expensive and luxurious. Then he opens the box and his blood heats in his veins as he pulls out the object. The toy. How did Hannibal…

“I would have assumed your law enforcement background would have equipped you with the knowledge and skills to clear your browser history, my lovely boy.”

There's a smile in Hannibal’s voice but he can't tear his eyes from the toy in his hand. It looks so different in real life, feels heavier in his hand than he would have expected. It's smooth, sleek, metallic and warm against his skin. He would have thought it cool to the touch, and wondered how much Hannibal handled it before setting it in tissue paper and sealing the box. There's one thing missing though, and it hasn't escaped Will’s notice. He's looked at this toy so many times, alone in the study long after Hannibal retired to bed, considering and wondering what it would feel like. If he would enjoy it. If Hannibal would want to use it with him. He swallows and searches for his voice.

“Where's the…”

“The remote control?” A flash of black appears in Hannibal’s palm. “What fun would it be if we couldn't use this treat together, Will? Or do you wish to be selfish and keep it all to yourself?”

“No,” he whispers, hoarse. He squeezes the plug experimentally. It's solid, large, and he surreptitiously tries to squeeze his thighs closer together to stop himself growing hard. The movement doesn't go unnoticed by Hannibal.

“I believe it has five settings,” The words are said as though Hannibal is discussing pieces of art to view at a museum. “And if interested correctly should gently massage your prostate and can stimulate you to orgasm if given enough time.” Hannibal’s eyes flick to Will’s and seem to glow in the firelight. “Does an evening at the opera sound like long enough to you, sweet boy?”

“Hannibal, you can't…” Arousal flares, drawing a gasp from his lips at the idea. “I can't…”

“Would you like me to insert it for you, Will?” Hannibal cuts him off smoothly, the clinical words bringing a shiver to Will’s skin. “Or can you manage yourself?”

The room suddenly seems much warmer, his clothes tighter, the space between them diminished to almost nothing as they share a breath. Hannibal smells rich, expensive, his cologne custom-made and imported from Florence. Will leans in and inhales a deep lungful. Hannibal, in turn, lowers his lips to Will’s neck and scents him, brushing his sensitive skin with his lips and bringing Will out in gooseflesh. Will tries to picture their evening together, now shed in a new light. Himself, unbearably aroused and wanting, trying to keep his mask of indifference in place. Hannibal, a glimmer to his eyes yet cool and aloof at his side, Will gracefully hanging on his arm. Nobody knowing. He imagines himself hard, aching, heart rate elevated and pupils dilated. Everyone would assume alcohol the cause, only he and Hannibal would know the truth. Would Hannibal take him to the point of orgasm and push him over the edge right there in the opera house? In front of people? Or keep him painfully aroused and desperate until they get home? He wonders, breath leaving his lungs in anticipation, what it will feel like, to have the toy vibrating inside him against his most intimate spot. How stretched will he have to be? How intense will the different settings be? He sways, closes his eyes against the tidal wave of arousal that courses through him and feels Hannibal’s fingers brush lightly across his lips, seeking an answer.

“I can… I can do it.” He watches as Hannibal nods in acceptance and steps away. “But I want you to. Please.”

Hannibal’s pupils dilate, barely enough to be noticeable. But Will knows him so intimately, can see any change at all in his body. He also sees the spasm of his fingers and the flare of his nostrils as he inhales, perhaps seeking the scent of Will’s arousal.

“Very well.” Hannibal’s voice is thicker, his accent stronger, and Will drops his gaze to confirm that he isn't the only one affected by the conversation and what they're planning for their night. “Turn around. Place your hands against the wall and do not move.”

Trembling a little with nerves, Will obeys. His palms sweat where they're pressed to the immaculate paintwork of Hannibal’s bedroom wall, and the other man presses up close against him, brushing his hair aside to kiss the back of his neck whilst simultaneously easing his underwear down. Will’s breath hitches as a hand slides down his back, two fingers dipping between his cheeks to circle his entrance. They'd had sex that morning, Hannibal taking him deeply and kissing the moans from his mouth in the early morning light, so he's still a little stretched and the tip of a finger enters him easily.

Then the warmth of Hannibal’s body vanishes and Will glances behind him to see Hannibal on his knees, the plug in one hand, strands of hair hanging in front of his eyes as he smiles up at Will. Then he leans in.

“Oh… Jesus, Hannibal,” Will presses his face into his forearm and closes his eyes at the first swipe of Hannibal’s tongue over his hole. Being eaten out is one of his filthiest, most adored pastimes and it embarrasses him how much it turns him on. Hannibal’s mouth is wet and sloppy against him, tongue working in slow circles before dipping inside. He's achingly hard, already worried how he's going to get through the evening, then when Hannibal starts to slowly fuck him with the tip of his tongue all coherent thought goes out of the window.

Then the warmth of Hannibal’s mouth is abruptly gone to be replaced by the blunt head of the plug, lubed up somehow, and Will groans as it stretches him slowly. It looked big in his hand but going in it feels huge and his thighs tremble at the intrusion.

“Breathe,” Hannibal instructs him, caressing the skin behind his balls in an attempt to relax him but it only serves to pique his arousal. He clenches his teeth and legs his eyes fall closed, trying to control the pulsing need between his thighs as Hannibal twists and tugs the plug gently, easing it in a other inch, testing Will’s resolve, more than likely watching as his hole stretches and tightens around it. “Beautiful boy. So good for me.”

“Shut up,” Will gasps and receives a light slap to his inner thigh in response. It stings deliciously and he buries his head in his forearm.

“That's the widest part,” Hannibal whispers, lying.

Will groans as he pushes it in more, his hole stretching and burning, drawing little mewls from his lips which he's powerless to contain. Then it slides in, sinking deep and pressing against his prostate hard enough to make him tremble and Hannibal taps it into place, smirking against Will’s thigh.

“Beautiful.” Hannibal stands, pulls Will’s underwear back up and snaps the waistband into place. “How do you feel?”

“Full,” Will murmurs into his arm. “Stretched. Hard.”

He learned early on that Hannibal likes to hear him voice the sensations that course through his body. It isn't enough to witness them: he wants Will to use his words, to connect the feelings to the world around him and to bring down any barriers of shame that may exist to stop Will from enjoying his pleasure to the absolute fullest.

“Good. My good boy. Now, finish dressing. I don't want us to be late.” He pauses, regards Will with a deep appreciation in his eyes. “Wear your contact lenses tonight. I want to be able to see you.”

Then he's gone, out of the room entirely, and Will is left feeling chilled and bereft without the comfort of his body. The toy has him aching, internally and between his thighs, and as he straightens himself and crosses the room on shaky legs he feels it snug up against his prostate and has to grasp the handles of the closet doors to steady himself.

“Fuck,” he whispers to the empty room, to his own reflection in the full-length mirror. This is going to be one hell of a night and he doesn't know if he's prepared enough to endure it. Emotionally or physically.

He dresses as swiftly as he can, groaning quietly as he steps into his pants with every pulse of sensation the plug gives him, and when he's finally ready he gazes at his own reflection, discomfited. He looks aroused. His cheeks are flushed, his curls are awry, his eyes dark and sexual. Hannibal would think him positively edible. His pants are fitted, tailored to perfection down to the last stitch, and will hide absolutely nothing if he grows erect from the stimulation. Which, Hannibal has all but assured him, he will. He steels his nerves and leaves the safe haven of the bedroom, descending the stairs slowly into the wicked embrace of Hannibal’s arms.

“Beautiful boy. You look exquisite. I'll be the envy of every person in the room tonight. Please, fetch our coats from the hallway closet and we’ll be on our way.”

He should have known it was a decoy. A distraction. And, in truth, as he was dressing and trying to temper his arousal in the bedroom - recovering as much as he could from the sweet pleasure of Hannibal’s mouth - he had forgotten entirely that the toy came with a remote control. A control that is safely in Hannibal’s possession just waiting to be tested out.

A stark cry leaves his lips and his palms slap flat against the closet door as vibrations cascade upwards through his pelvis, sending arousal coiling up his spine and pooling between his thighs. The plug vibrates in delicious pulses inside him, causing his hole to tighten to keep it inside and he gasps with renewed ecstasy as Hannibal takes it up to the second setting.

“Oh, oh fuck,” he whispers, eyes falling closed at the sensation. Behind him, Hannibal laughs quietly, the sound almost cruel to Will’s heightened sensations.

“My darling, you look divine when gripped by your pleasure. Though I fear our company tonight will be less approving than I am. Try to control yourself, Will. Don't let them know.” Whispered words, close into his ear, wrap themselves around Will and he's drenched in sexual tension and want. “Don't let them see you orgasm. The way your face twists and your lips part as you scream for me, that is for my eyes only.”

“Don't make it happen, then,” Will gripes and Hannibal jerks his jaw around none-too-gently to steal a kiss from his parted lips.

“We’ll see just how strong your self-control is tonight, my dear.” Hannibal retrieves their coats, turning the vibrations down just enough for Will to catch his breath and steady himself, then switching the toy off altogether. “Come. We’re in danger of being late.”

“God forbid,” Will grumbles along in his wake until they're walking down the street and Hannibal offers his arm. Snow is falling in a twinkling sheet and it catches on their lips and lashes. Hannibal looks wonderful at his side, distinguished and superior, and Will feels a little thrill of excitement about being the one man lucky enough to be his chosen companion. He knows they’ll both draw the usual stares and he will be sick of it by five minutes into the evening, for now he's happy to be out together, to be seen by the world. And for the exciting, erotic promise that the night ahead holds.

Sleek black limousines and convertible Mercedes are all pulled up outside the opera house, well-suited men helping ladies out with graceful smiles and holding umbrellas over them to protect them from the snow. Hannibal holds the expansive glass doors open for two elderly ladies in front of them who smile genially at him and twinkle their yellowing eyes in Will’s direction, then presses a hand to Will’s lower back to guide him inside. The warmth hits them immediately, the mixed scent of money and expensive perfumes, champagne glasses immediately offered to them and their snow-damp coats whisked away by attendants in black tie. Low string music bleeds out through the room from a quarter on a podium in the far corner and the light from the chandeliers and sconces is low and flattering. The toy inside him is keeping him full and stretched just enough to be noticeable and he has to regulate his breathing as anxiety spikes through him - immediate panic now that he's in company that someone will know, someone will be able to tell.

“Relax, my dear,” Hannibal whispers into his ear. His hand hasn't left the small of Will’s back aside from the ten seconds it took to slide his arm from his coat and hand it away. “Nobody knows. Only you and I.”

“Okay.” He breathes out through his teeth. “I'm relaxed.”

“You're not.” Hannibal’s lips brush his temple, the closest he's ever gotten to kissing Will in public. “Allow me to assist you.”

Before Will can protest, Hannibal’s hand slides to his pocket then Will’s jaw tightens as low vibrations course through him and he bites his lip.

“Hannibal,” It's a low, broken sound and he's propelled against his will into the midst of a crowd of socialites and has to endure hand-shaking and being smiled at and Hannibal introducing him as his partner while his body fights against the shreds of his control.

“Dr Lecter, it's such a pleasure to see you again,” an Italian man with a crisp accent shakes Hannibal’s hand with fervour, ignoring Will entirely which is perfectly fine by him. “I'm a huge fan of your work. I met with Dr Harrington last week and we discussed your most recent paper on social exclusion theory…”

The conversation flows over Will as he sips his champagne at Hannibal’s side. Between his legs, the vibrations amp up a notch and he just manages to stifle a gasp, sending his gaze down to see Hannibal’s hand resting comfortably in his pocket. Bastard. He can see right through the older man’s plan: he doesn't want Will to relax at all tonight. Doesn't want him to sink into complacency even when he's excluded from the conversation. His anal muscles clench around the toy and he grits his teeth. Then he almost jumps a mile when Hannibal’s arm comes around his waist to pull him just a little close against his body and he's snapped back into the circle, blinking.

“Will is a very dear friend of mine,” there's a sharp edge to Hannibal’s tone as he addresses the man - a head shorter than Will with dark, beady eyes who is gazing at him resentfully- and although he didn't hear whatever careless comment was thrown in his direction it was evidently less than complimentary. “And though he may not be a fan of this particular pastime, he certainly knows how to enjoy himself while he's here.”

The innuendo isn't lost on Will and he manages a smile that probably looks more akin to a snarl and the man raises a palm to both of them.

“I meant no offence. He just didn't look particularly engaged.”

“Whether he is or he isn't, neither is your business,” Will snaps, his patience running thin as he tries valiantly to balance his desire not to offend Hannibal with the sudden burning urge to knock the guy into next week. That coupled with the pulsing between his legs and he's just about done with the evening. He wonders fretfully if he can convince Hannibal to just take him home and bend him over the nearest piece of antique furniture.

Before the man can respond, his face tight with shock and offense, Hannibal’s hand tightens on Will’s arm and he smiles with false warmth at the people in their circle, all who are staring at Will with mixed surprise and respect, some with disgust.

“I believe it’s time to take our seats. Will, shall we?”

They walk down the plush corridor, surrounded on all sides by people and the low murmur of voices, and Will doesn’t know what to say. He should probably apologise for his sharp comment, for offending someone likely to be an acquaintance or an associate of Hannibal’s, but he’s still silently fuming about being spoken about as though he were nothing more than a dog at their feet. Hannibal’s hand is pressed to his lower back, guiding him, a little firmer than usual and he wonders if he’s in trouble, like a scolded schoolboy. If he is, he’s pretty sure he knows Hannibal’s plans for punishing him.

They have a box that they share with two other couples, both older than them by at least a decade, and Will shifts restlessly as he sits down, the plug pressing firmly against his prostate and the vibrations making him want to pant and writhe. It feels incredible and he inclines his hips with as much subtlety as he can manage, chasing the sensation.

The house lights go down and Hannibal takes his hand - and ups the vibrations of the toy. Will’s gasp is swallowed up by the deep baritone of the singer onstage and he arches his spine, praying nobody is looking at him. He's hard between his legs, the fabric of his underwear damp already, and this is going to be a hell of an evening if Hannibal keeps this up.

And Hannibal does. Will is forced to endure a constant onslaught of pleasure as the opera continues, sitting with his fingers gripping the armrests of his seat, teeth clenched, barely holding in his whimpers and gasps. He stays in his seat for the interval, and Hannibal punishes him with the highest setting of the vibrating plug from six feet away where he sips champagne and charms a young gentleman who almost has hearts floating from his eyes at being the focus of the Doctor’s attention for all of five minutes. Will squirms, eyes them both balefully, and concentrates hard on not coming. His dick is almost painfully erect and surges of arousal have him clenching down on the plug in desperate spasms as it massages his prostate relentlessly. His low whimpers are quiet enough not to be heard by anyone around him and for that he's grateful - the two elderly couples in their box appear hard of hearing, much to his relief when they return for the second half.

It seems to go on forever, the opera and the utter torture. Will’s mouth runs dry as his thoughts cascade from one erotic scenario to another. He's desperate for Hannibal’s touch, for the taste of him in his mouth, to feel him behind him, holding his hips, fucking him hard to take away the frustration the toy is building within him. He remembers Hannibal telling him not to let anyone see him come. The toy is turned up to the highest level again. His eyes fall closed as every muscle in his body winds tight.

And, as Hannibal leads the rest of the audience into a standing ovation, Will Graham tips his head back and climaxes, his body tightening with ecstasy as his helpless cry of pleasure is swept away into the fierce applause that surrounds him. He clenches around the toy, gasping, fingers gripping the edge of the seat, silently begging for it to stop even as his hips arch into the sensation, jerky movements of his body that nobody around him notices; they're all too lost in the singer onstage to see that Will has reached orgasm in their presence.

The applause continues. Will sees, through lidded eyes, people throwing roses onto the stage, and his fingers manage to release his chair just long enough to tug at Hannibal’s tux surreptitiously. A silent plea for him to turn the toy off, because Will doesn't believe he can keep quiet much longer. He's panting quietly, eyes screwed shut against the relentless vibrations inside him, and Hannibal needs to come to his aid now before he starts begging in earnest. He shifts, gasping as another wet pulse of come soaks the front of his pants and sees Hannibal glance down at him, not ceasing his clapping or even faltering for a second. By the flare of his nostrils Will knows he can smell his release.

Will stays in his seat, shell-shocked by the intensity of the pleasure, his muscles only unwind in when Hannibal drops the setting of the toy to its lowest, then turning it off completely. The aftershocks make Will’s abdomen clench and his thighs tingle and he simultaneously wants more and wants to run and hide and sleep for days. He feels sore, wrung out, still riding the edge of arousal and could be coaxed towards another climax but Hannibal spares him the indignity and for that he's thankful. He's not made to rub shoulders with anybody either, afterward; Hannibal takes his arm, kisses his temple, makes their excuses amid flustered protests, and guides a dizzied Will towards the exit. Every step sends sparks of overstimulation through his pelvis and up his spine.

Outside on the steps, Hannibal presses a kiss to his mouth and Will softens into his arms, allowing himself to be held and, for once, uncaring about the eyes on him or the fervent gossip that will break out following their departure. All he cares about is Hannibal and the deep kisses that go on and on, sweeping him away on the steps of the opera house under the starlit sky.

They take a town car home, summoned instantly by a quick press of Hannibal’s speed dial. Will shifts in his seat, uncomfortably sticky and his clothes feeling too tight, relishing the thought of a warm shower when they get in. Hannibal’s bathroom is perfection, a style he apparently recreated from a time spent in Florence many years ago, and the copper freestanding bath is one of Will’s favourite things in the house. Maybe he’ll really indulge himself and clean himself off in the shower then sink into a hot bath with some of Hannibal’s custom-blended oils to lull him to sleep.

He's shivery, teeth threatening to chatter, sweating with the type of chill one gets when in the grips of a fever. The toy is an unwelcome presence inside his body now and he wishes Hannibal had allowed him to remove it before they left. He should have just gone and done it, ignored the wishes of the older man, but then what would he have done with it? He had to carry his coat in front of him as they left to hide the damp patch on his pants, and if it had fallen out of a pocket the humiliation would be too much to bear.

“You were beautiful tonight, Will.” Hannibal compliments him in a low, almost reverent tone. “Exquisite.”

“Thanks,” he shifts uncomfortably, never able to accept praise in any form. The plug still presses deep, the vibrations thankfully turned off. He doesn’t think he can cope with any more tonight, physically or otherwise.

“I enjoyed watching you. Listening to you. Knowing what I was creating within you.”

“Yeah. It was, um, a lot of fun.” He can’t think of anything more eloquent to say. They sit in traffic, red tail lights ahead of them and snow settling on the windshield and in the base of the windows. Will traces a stray flake with his fingertip, the glass cool beneath his skin. “Not what I expected from tonight, that’s for sure. Don’t you want me to…

He allows his voice to trail off, confident that Hannibal will know exactly what he’s referring to. His other hand, resting lightly on the leather seat between them, is taken and Hannibal brushes a kiss to his knuckles.

“No. Not tonight. Seeing you that way was pleasure enough for me. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“Alright.” Will resolves to wake Hannibal up in the morning in a way that’s proven extremely popular in the past, a smile already tugging at his lips as he formulates a loose plan. His shoulders ache from holding himself so stiffly around the high-society types and his lower back is sore, likely from fishing that morning out at Wolf Trap. He wonders if Hannibal will consent to rubbing massage oil into his muscles before they go to bed.

Although, a stray thought chides him, perhaps he hasn't earned it. Perhaps how he acted at the opera and his inability to control his body and his climax has made Hannibal angry with him, that low, simmering type of anger that lies low until it's unleashed with a cold, cruel fury.

“Do you love me, Hannibal?” He asks suddenly, shattering the comfortable silence between them, and he feels rather than sees the older man’s head jerk around to look at him. There’s a pause, the length of two heartbeats, before his fingers are squeezed almost tight enough to hurt.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know.” He focuses his gaze on a fire hydrant outside on the street, glowing orange in the light from a street lamp. “I just wondered.”

“Do I not tell you enough? Show you every day?” Hannibal’s tone is neutral, unreadable. Will wonders if he's misstepped by asking.

“Yes. You do.” Finally, painfully, he manages to turn and meet Hannibal’s eyes which seem to sparkle amber inside the car, his cheekbones highlighted by the subtle lighting from the doors. “Sorry. Forget it.”

“I will not. Why ask?”

“It doesn't matter, Hannibal. Forget I said anything. I just…” He blinks, swallows a ball of what feels like lead in his throat, feels Hannibal’s fingers tighten around his own. “I just wanted to hear you say it,” he whispers, feeling suddenly foolish and vulnerable.

Tonight has worn his nerves raw and while he enjoyed the experience immensely something about his orgasm under the eyes of a hundred people or more has left him feeling exposed in a way he’s no longer enjoying now that the heat of the moment has faded away. Irrationally, he’s feeling as though this was nothing more than a game to Hannibal, a cruel way to challenge him and to see how he responds, rather than to bring him pleasure. He’s rarely emotional after sex, but tonight pushed a boundary they had never reached before and, to his utter horror, tears are sparking in his eyes, burning hot, and he blinks furiously to stop them catching on his lashes.

“Will,” Hannibal’s voice is low, accent thick, and he sounds just a little less composed than he usually does. “Did you not enjoy our evening?”

“You know I did.”

“I do not, not unless you tell me. So please, tell me. Was tonight enjoyable for you? Why has it left you feeling… insecure?”

Perfect, now Hannibal thinks he’s not in control of his emotions. Will exhales, runs a hand through his hair and tries to pull his fingers free but they’re held fast.

“I enjoyed it. I don’t know what’s wrong. Let’s just get home and go to bed, okay?”

In the semi-darkness Hannibal frowns, clearly displeased with Will’s answer. He leans forward and taps on the glass partition wall separating them from the driver. “Pull over, please. As soon as is convenient.”

“What are you doing? Hannibal? Please, I want to go home...”

The car settles at the side of the street, headlamps dazzling a young couple walking towards them with their hats pulled low and collars up, faces barely visible as they squint against the glare and the snow. It's suddenly very quiet and very still inside the car. Will imagines he can hear his own heartbeat and wonders if Hannibal can too.

“Will.” Hannibal unfastens his safety belt and reaches for Will’s to do the same, then turns in his seat so that he’s facing him fully. Unconsciously, Will mirrors his position. “I love you. Fiercely. Always. And if anything tonight has left you feeling bereft of that love then the failure is mine and mine alone. You were perfect in every way, and I am privileged that you gave me your trust and your body so willingly.” He leans in close, encourages Will towards him, and they share a breath, wine and champagne on both their lips. Will inhales deeply, hanging desperately, emotionally, on every word. “Every man and woman there tonight envied me, because I had you on my arm. You do not realise how magnetic you are, and how much I adore you.” He raises Will’s hand again between them, palms together, links their fingers and kisses his knuckles, and Will has to bite back another wave of tears. One stray droplet manages to escape, pooling on his lower lashes and tracking down his cheek. Hannibal brushes it away with the back of a crooked finger. “Ask me, and I shall tell you the depths of my love whenever you wish it. But know that it is absolute and will never change. I love you completely, Will Graham. I always shall.”

Will is robbed of his voice for what seems like too long. His chest aches and his breath feels too thin. Hannibal rarely, if ever, has spoken to him with such fierce devotion and it’s brought him almost to his knees with the weight of the words. Hannibal is staring into his eyes with an intensity he’s powerless to break away from, his hand moving from Will’s cheek up to brush his curls back and hold them there and then they’re kissing and it’s powerful, deep, an expression of everything Hannibal feels for Will and more. So much more.

“I love you too,” Will breathes against his lips and Hannibal shifts to pull him close against him, an arm wrapped around his shoulder to keep him there. “Thank you. For... for loving me. For saying it.”

“Never thank me for that. Thank you for allowing me to.”

Hannibal taps on the glass pane and the car purrs away from the sidewalk into the traffic once again. They’re only minutes from home. Will relaxes into Hannibal’s arms, the presence of the toy inside him a reminder of their evening but also now a reminder of Hannibal’s adoration of him and he casts his mind back to how Hannibal had worshipped his body with his mouth earlier in the evening.

“A bath, I think.” Hannibal murmurs into his hair, combing his fingers through the perpetually unruly curls. “Then I will rub your back for you. Read to you, perhaps.”

“I’d like that.” Will turns his cheek into Hannibal’s chest, against his shirt beneath his coat, inhales the older man’s scent. He can already feel drowsiness seeping through his limbs and knows he won’t be able to stay awake for too long when they get back.

“Nabakov,” Hannibal is saying. “Lolita. You always did enjoy that one…”

Will’s eyes close as the movement of the car and the sound of Hannibal’s heartbeat lulls him to sleep with a warmth in his heart and a hand stroking his hair. Outside, the snow continues to fall.


End file.
